High Artistry

Even before countertenor David Daniels reached center stage, it was clear that we were in for a special afternoon. The grin on his face, matched by the smile from accompanist Martin Katz, was unforced, relaxed, and filled with confidence. Daniels was letting us know that he expected to be in top form, and take us on a joyride.

And so he did. In only his second Cal Performances recital, Daniels’ return to the relative intimacy of the 678-seat Hertz Hall found him in glowing voice. Although his instrument is capable of healthy volume and bloom at the top of the range, its proportions far more resemble Cecilia Bartoli’s than Fiorenza Cossotto’s (or, to invoke a soprano singing simultaneously across the bay, Deborah Voigt’s). In larger spaces, the fine, mildly glistening top of Daniels’ range blends into the rest of the tonal envelope, slightly obscuring the full span of his vocal accomplishment. But in Hertz Hall, everything was audible in full glory. While I have always been an unabashed David Daniels fan, it sometimes takes me a few moments to adjust to his uniquely androgynous singing. Yet when Daniels began his opening set of five songs by Brahms with the lyrical Auf dem See (At the lake), all I could think was how natural and all of one piece he sounded. I just had to stop marveling at the beauty long enough to fully take in the grace of phrasing and wealth of subtle nuance that distinguish a recitalist completely attuned to the text. The artistry was magnificent, pure and simple. In other Brahms songs, Daniels confirmed his versatility by darkening his tone for Nicht mehr zu dir zu gehen (To visit you no longer). If his lower range could only approximate the gutsy folksiness of Lotte Lehmann or other get-down artists at the start of Mein Mädel hat einen Rosenmund (My lassie’s mouth is like a rosebud), it more than compensated in the last refrain, with intentionally audible little breaths of excitement between “O du! o du! o du!,” a teasing rallentando on “la la la la!,” and a gutsy exclamation on the final “Du läst mir keine Ruh!” (I can’t stop thinking about you). His performance of the final song, Heimweh II (Homesickness II), could have taken its place alongside soprano Elly Ameling’s recording as another near-ideal rendition of Brahms’ gem. Except for an occasional tendency to play too loud when not accompanying Daniels, the notes that poured out of Martin Katz’s fingers declared him an equal if far more self-effacing artist. One example out of many: The accompaniment to Ständchen (Serenade) flowed like water, with the final notes as cute as could be. Katz also allowed Daniels’ voice to arise naturally out of the accompaniment at the start of Handel’s Cara sposo, amante cara (My dear betrothed), which is no mere accomplishment for either musician.

A Most Ardent Lover

In the second set of four Italian songs, Daniels’ repeat of the line “Ecco rimbombi dale valli ascose” (Rebound, echo, from the hidden valleys) in Jacopo Peri’s Gioite al canto mio (Rejoice at my song) displayed his meltingly soft, sparingly used head voice. And even beyond the first line of Caccini’s Amarillia, mia bella (Amaryllis, my lovely one), which was as sweet and tender as any wooing lover would wish, the tremendous attention lavished on the slowly repeated unison trillo “o o o o” of “amore” resembled the palpitations of a beating heart. I’ve heard similar ornamentation performed countless times, but never before has the emotion that motivates come through so clearly. Singing four songs by Reynaldo Hahn, Daniels took his place alongside Susan Graham as one of the few artists who can transform what some deride as ultimately inconsequential parlor songs into high art. Sure, Quand je fus pris au pavillon (When I was lured to her love nest) was as charming as can be, but since when is charm a second-rate emotion? (Thank you, Tina Turner.) How many recitalists on today’s stages can emit a high note as a point of light, then sound pale and empty in the next song? I know. I’m gushing, and you’re tiring of reading example after example. Suffice it to say that in the Handel set, arias from Rinaldo and Partenope displayed the fluid, immensely challenging runs for which Daniels is prized. I’m not convinced that all of the five concluding English songs deserved Daniels’ attention — the drama in Elgar’s Where Corals Lie seemed more gratuitous than arising from the text — but Quilter’s Music, When Soft Voices Die and Drink to Me Only With Thine Eyes were exquisite. Henry Purcell’s short I’ll Sail Upon a Dog Star served as a perfect first encore. As for the second, Già l’ebro mio ciglio from Handel’s Orlando, Daniels’ clear signal that it was time to bid us adieu brought most of the audience to its collective feet, almost in salute.